


Happy Halloween

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Sex on a Car, Smut, Vaginal Sex, sex in the rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You and Dean have some fun in the rain on Halloween night. Baby’s involved.





	Happy Halloween

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Dean says, shoulders hunched, and head ducked down between them to shield his face from the falling rain as the two of you glide across the wet lawn.

“Oh, come on,” you grin, shoving your shoulder into his. “You had fun, admit it.”

“I enjoyed the beer, yes.”

“Whatever. It was fun. They all liked you.”

“Because they’re  _your_  friends. They have to.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” you concede. “I dunno. Haven’t really seen ‘em since high school. I’s never really that close to ‘em anyway.”

“Fuck people,” Dean says then, throwing a heavy, red-sleeved arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

“That’s the spirit,” you grin. “You rebel-”

“Stop it.”

“…Without a cause.”

He groans, but grins, shakes his head. You’d just happened to be back in your hometown for a case. Reports of children acting strange around Halloween wouldn’t be much of a stretch to anyone else, anyone not in the life, anyone who didn’t know about spirits and monsters…about changelings.

It’d only taken the two of you half the day to track the mother-bitch down and set her aflame.

Then you’d found yourselves suddenly free on Halloween night.

You’ve mildly kept in contact with your old high school gang via Facebook, and when you’d caught wind of Kim’s Halloween party, you just  _knew_  how you wanted to spend the evening.

It didn’t take much to convince Dean - the lure of free alcohol was the only ammunition you’d needed. The  _hard_  part had been convincing him to wear a costume. He’d initially flat-out refused, but a quick trip to the store and red jacket later…

And he was your very own James Dean.

“Can it, White,” Dean throws back, reaches over to pluck at the puffed sleeve of your Snow White costume with his free hand.

“My Prince Charming…” you breathe sarcastically, feigning a dreamy sigh.

“You like it,” the hunter quips, pulls you tighter under his chin so he can press a warm kiss to the dampening top of your head.

*****

“Pull over,” you suddenly blurt, voice slicing through Aerosmith’s “Back in the Saddle”.

“Huh? Why?” Dean asks, head jerkily oscillating between you and the road.

“Over there!”

“What? The field?”

“Yes!”

Dean gives you a long, sideways glance, but then guides the Impala off the road, jostling the two of you against the leather bench seat as the car coasts towards the dark, open space.

“Behind those trees over there,” you instruct, pointing to a cluster of oaks a few feet ahead. Dean heeds your instructions, but he tosses you several confused looks as he veers the rumbling vehicle behind the trees, lets her roll to a stop before throwing her in park.

There’s a brief second of silence, just the rubber sound of the the windshield wipers swiping back and forth.

“Okay…” he starts. “So what’s-”

“Come on!” you beam, wrenching the passenger door open, leaving Dean brow-furrowed and lip-parted as you slam the door shut.

It’s cool and wet out, but not uncomfortably so. You do a little twirl in your cheap costume, directly in front of the car’s grille, and you can see the raindrops flick off of you in golden flecks under the Impala’s headlights.

You giggle under your breath, can just see Dean shaking his head in bewilderment at you. The door creaks open then, and Dean leans out into the open space.

“Come on, babe,” he calls. “Get back in the car…You’re gonna get sick or somethin’!”

“No, you come on, Deannn! It’s fun!”

The old beast goes silent as he cuts the engine, rocks a little as Dean pushes himself out of it. He thunks the door closed, and then blinks the rain out of his eyes as he walks up to you.

“You’re crazy,” he says, but he’s smiling sweet. “I mean, I think you’ve literally lost your damned mind. How drunk are you?”

You get up on your toes, loop your arms loose around the back of his neck. “Not drunk,” you say, voice a little floaty. “I’m just…I dunno. Happy.”

His arms circle your waist then, rest heavy around your sides.

“And why is that?”

You look up at him, at the clear globs of water clinging to his long lashes.

“You,” you say with a lilt to you voice, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Dean’s arms go a little tighter, and his face smooths as the silliness drains from it.

And then his lips meet yours; full, warm, and wet as he kisses you under the strengthening downpour.

You’re the one to pull away, backing out of his hold to lead him by the hand toward Baby’s wet-splattered hood.

“This your plan the whole time?” he asks, hands grasping your hips to ease you into the glossy surface.

“Maybe,” you admit with a wink, worrying at your bottom lip as he blankets you with his hefty weight. He runs thick fingers through your now-soaked hair before ducking down to kiss you again, soft and open-mouthed.

The headlights still shine, but they’re below you, so Dean’s a bulky silhouette hovering over you; a phantom sucking at your lips and caressing your jaw. Your hands immediately, blindly, go for the cheap jacket, pushing the material off his shoulders until he takes the hint, breaking away to peel it down and off his arms, and stuffing it behind your head to serve as a makeshift (albeit soggy) pillow.

“Still think you’re crazy,” he breathes.

He crushes himself to you as he works your dress up and over your hips, inches your panties down your legs one-handed.

There’s rustling, metal clinking, and then he’s tugging you down to the edge of the hood until you feel the warm nudge of his cock at your entrance, and the warm-wet press of his torso against yours as he fits himself over you.

You get your legs around his hips, Converse-clad feet locked at his back as he sinks into your velvet heat. He stills once he’s fully seated, gets his forearms planted against the slick surface beside your head, and gives you a moment to adjust; panting warm and soft against your mouth.

You gasp when he starts to rock, hood still warm under your back from the engine as you slide against it. He’s thrusting in so smooth, so  _deep_  - and you’re teetering somewhere between it being too perfect and not  _enough_.

His pace is languid, like you’ve got all the time in the world, and you suppose you do. The case is over, you don’t have any real deadlines at the moment; you finally have the luxury to fuck as slow as you want on Baby’s hood in the middle of an open field.

He’s starting to move a little faster now, losing himself in the feeling. Your run your hands over his big arms, feel the flex of his biceps as holds himself over you, against you. He lets his head drop, stubbled cheek scratching at the soft of yours, hot breath fanning across your ear with every deep grunt.

You let your hands roam to his back, palms flat against the muscles rolling under his soaked t-shirt, fat raindrops splattering against your knuckles.

And it’s so quiet out, nothing but the calming rain, and your mingled pants and moans filling the cool night air.

Dean moves his lips to yours, just breathes against you for a moment before licking into your mouth, tongue lapping at your own with every pump of his hips. Molten heat floods your veins as he works you higher and higher and higher, and he’s fucking into you deep enough that his lower abdomen rubs over your clit every time he hits home.

And then you’re arching up into him, choking out your pleasure against his full lips as you clench and spasm around him. Dean follows exactly four thrusts later, head falling to your neck as he groans low, cock pulsing as he spills so deep inside.

He pulls out, and rolls to his back beside you as the rains continues to patter against your limp bodies.

“Hey,” you whisper, letting your head loll toward his.

“Hey, what?” he whispers back.

You reach for his hand, lace your fingers with his when you find it.

“Happy Halloween.”


End file.
